Spun of Glass
by Nightfancy
Summary: Sometimes it's really hard to see any light when you're surrounded in darkness. But don't worry. The professor knows this. Post UF. Game 3 spoilers.


**A/N:** _Set roughly six years after Unwound Future [spoilers contained herein therefore], but for once, this isn't about Professor Layton: it's about Luke. Please forgive me for the liberties I've taken, and above all please enjoy. ^^__  
_

Seeing as their respectively chosen fields involved a very distinct opposite, it was little wonder that they rarely saw one another. While he on occasion studied animals that had once lived hundreds sometimes thousands of years ago, Luke studied animals that were currently living, with all intent and purpose aimed at preventing death wherever possible. He should have clued in to the signs then, but Luke had always held a fascination for animals. Preventing death in veterinary medicine would therefore quickly become a rudimentary part to his education.

From what he had heard, Luke was an extraordinary student and was truly in his element when working with animals. Doctor Truitt raved that she had never seen anyone half as gifted as Luke and Hershel could not quite repress the small smile whenever Luke's remarkable success was mentioned. So it was with great surprise when the doctor came to him a mere month following the…accident, Luke's report card clutched in her fist.

"I don't know what happened," she was saying while Hershel glanced over Luke's grades, privately chastising himself for giving the boy so much room to cope. "His understanding seemed nigh-on instinctive and now his papers are poorly constructed and his last test he barely scraped by with a pass. This isn't like him at all so I thought I'd come to you, Hershel."

"Yes, these grades certainly are worrisome," he grimly conceded, glancing over a horribly-written paper. "…but I think I know the cause. He's suffered a—" he paused, pulling himself together before he said the word, "—death in the family recently…"

Doctor Truitt's mouth fell open, her dark eyes widening. "Oh my goodness—I'm so sorry, I—"

His well-practiced fingers were already whispering against the brim of his hat. "No harm done, Sylvia. The funeral was intended to be a quiet affair, but it seems as though Luke has not been adjusting to the loss like I expected he would…"

Sylvia bit her lip and averted her gaze, tucking her wayward gray hair behind her left ear. "I feel terrible; I had no idea. I confronted him about his slipping grades and he assured me that he was just having trouble sleeping, but would be back up to par very soon."

"How long ago was this?"

"Almost a fortnight ago," she confessed, meeting her colleague's eyes again. "When he didn't show up for class today I suspected something must be wrong."

"You may well be correct," he agreed, grabbing his coat and making preparations to leave while completely disregarding the fact that the fossil he was currently inspecting was only halfway categorized. "It seems a visit is long overdue."

Sylvia followed him out and he locked the door behind them. "Take care, Hershel," she said in the hallway.

"Thank you."

.∆.

Whatever Hershel had been expecting, it had not been this. Luke's flat was on the small side, but that was perfectly expected, perfectly understandable. No, the state of Luke's semi-permanent living quarters was shocking.

Turning on the light should have availed yet another clue—it wouldn't even turn on, but from the light in the hallway, Hershel could see (and smell, his rueful nose added) the chaos that lay within. There were bottles of alcohol strewn from one end of the flat to the other, and it could've been his imagination upon seeing such unfavorable living standards, but it seemed a bit cooler than average room temperature would merit.

"_Oh Luke,"_ he whispered, his heart aching as he took his last breath of fresh air before stepping inside, shutting the unlocked door behind him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Hershel noted that his initial analysis had not been far from the mark. The empty bottles of alcohol continued into the modest kitchen, where he found a number of spoiled provisions contributing to the rancid air. Being in this environment was making his eyes water, but Hershel could not tell if it was the odors themselves, or the fact that he felt so unimaginably responsible for—

He paused in his examination as he heard a noise coming from the direction of Luke's bedroom, a kind of distorted groan. Before he could say or do anything further, Luke stumbled into the kitchen.

He jumped when he realized his long-time mentor was there, though it was delayed, almost as though he was still half-asleep. "Pr'fessah—I didn't know you were…" he broke off, almost as if forming words was taking a Herculean effort, "…here," he finally finished with a satisfied sort of smirk.

"Yes, I am here," Hershel began as if nothing were wrong. "I apologize for having let myself in…"

"No, no… 'salright," Luke slurred, waving his hand in front of his face. "I forgot to…" he paused again and concluded, "unlock the door."

"I think you mean 'lock' the door, Luke," Layton began patiently, "however that is not exactly why I am here."

And almost as if he had said the magic words, Luke's face suddenly began to grow suspicious. All traces of his inebriation seemed to instantly subside, though Layton knew that Luke must still be very drunk or suffering a severe hangover at least—and probably sporting a splitting headache the way he kept absently touching his head. "What _are_ you doing here, Professor?" he asked shortly, his face contorting into a glare.

"Why, do I need a reason to come and see you?"

And even though Layton's voice had been kind, Luke was still glaring. "Don't give me that…_shit_," he spat.

"Luke…" the professor responded partly in warning, but then he sighed and said, "You are correct in your assumption that I have come for a different reason."

"I told you…_I_ _told you_. I'm not going to let you pull that shit with me—"

"Language, Luke," Layton lightly admonished, but this turned out to be an altogether very bad idea.

Luke whirled on him, looking deranged. "I can say _WHATEVER I WANT_, Professor!" And then as if to prove his point, shouted a string of expletives, each more colorful than the last.

After a few moments of silence following Luke's outburst, Layton finally said with an unmistakable hint of disappointment, "I'm relieved that your apprenticeship with me did not go to waste."

"I _knew_ you were going to pull that one out of your godforsaken top hat," he snarled. "But the truth of the matter is I was always so…_restrained_ with you. I never could do anything I wanted to do—I could never be…_myself_."

"Ah yes," Layton said, folding his arms and ruefully glancing around the interior of the flat, "I see."

"It's not exactly a castle…_but it's what I want…_"

"Forgive me, Luke," Hershel began, "but I seem to recall a boy of a mere nine years of age who absolutely begged to accompany me, to learn from me, to apprentice under my guidance and direction."

"A _boy_ then, hardly a man—"

"This boy also," Layton smoothly interrupted him despite the fact that he was against doing such normally, "would have never apprenticed under me had he not voiced such desires to me in the first place."

Luke scowled. "I was _obviously_ mistaken. I wasted a lot of time."

"Luke," the professor's tone seemed to turn apologetic which only made Luke frown more. "I think I know what has happened here."

A shadow of panic flittered over Luke's face before it was replaced with his anger. "No you don't. You don't know a damn—"

But the professor had had enough of the profanity. "Please grant me the respect so that I may tell you what I think I know," he entreated firmly. When it looked as though Luke was about to interrupt again, Layton said, "If I am wrong, you may disprove me, but realize you must have _very_ convincing evidence, my boy. Circumstances being what they are—forgive me—appear rather incriminating at the moment."

Now Luke became flippant. "Fine. What do you possibly _think_ you know?"

The classic thinking pose that Layton would resemble upon unearthing a very large secret appeared again, and almost at once, Luke's fear seemed to return judging by the look on his face. But above all, a gentleman was compassionate; he gave a slight nod at Luke before he began to pace.

Layton came to stand before the darkened window and glanced at the world outside as he carefully considered what to say first. It was so strange that people out there had no idea of the chaos brewing within the very walls that separated him from them. It was like two separate worlds altogether.

Yet as he continued to stand there and think, he could almost sense the impatience radiating off his former ward in waves. _Luke_… There was no sense keeping the boy waiting any longer.

"Doctor Truitt paid me a very unexpected visit today," he began measuredly. "She expressed concern regarding your slipping grades."

As expected, Luke's response was in anger. "I _told_ her that I was working on it—"

"Luke, please don't interrupt." And when it seemed his calm petition would be heeded, even if begrudgingly, Layton continued. "Yes, she told me that. She told me that you had claimed you were having trouble sleeping. It is a common complaint from many students, but however _uncommon_ in the fact that alcohol is widely seen as a _depressant_, not a stimulant, therefore: I believe you were having trouble waking rather than sleeping."

When Luke miraculously did not respond to that, Layton resumed. "When you failed to attend class this morning, the poor woman was rightfully concerned; why else would an otherwise bright, capable young man slip so far?"

"She sent you, didn't she?" Luke snarled. "She sent you, and—"

Layton held up a hand from his place at the window. "I came of my own volition, Luke."

"You may say that, but if she hadn't come to you—"

Layton sighed. "Luke, whether or not Doctor Truitt was concerned, you must know that I would have realized something was wrong in all eventuality."

"No you wouldn't have—you wouldn't even—"

"Now the way you've so quickly sought to contradict me now," Layton pointed out while absently straightening his hat, "leads me to believe there _is_ something fundamentally wrong. If there was not, then why did you not protest at the supposed absurdity of my statements?"

When Luke did not reply, Layton once more continued his tentative evaluation. "Doctor Truitt informed me that this pattern of academic apathy began only a short time ago…" And after this revelation, he turned around to face his former apprentice and said, "To be perfectly frank, over a month ago."

"Stop. Just _stop_," Luke's voice suddenly sounded strained.

"This is not the life she would've wanted for you, Luke—"

"Shut up! Just shut up!" He was back to shouting. "Just because you lost Claire you think you know how I feel. But you _don't_, alright? You don't! You don't know anything!"

"How do you know her—?"

Luke glared at him. "I know it must have escaped your notice, _Professor_, but _I was there_ the second time you lost her—"

"That's not what I—"

"—and I remember how you pathetically shouted after her. Believe me, Professor, that's not a name anyone could forget in a hurry, especially when—"

"_Now that's quite enough."_ And the firmness seemed to have startled Luke enough that he stopped dead fast in his tirade .

But after several tense moments, the professor only sighed and said, "Luke. I know you're hurting, but that does not give you the right to criticize another, nor does it give you the authority to use such distasteful language."

"You can't tell me what to do," came the defiant whisper.

"You are quite right, I'm afraid," Layton agreed, stepping closer to where he had left his apprentice by the fridge, but he stopped once Luke began taking a few backward steps of his own in order to maintain the distance between them. "However, I do feel as though there is a very large reason for _this_ as well," he said, gesturing to their surroundings.

"My home is my castle and I can do with it as I see—"

"Correct again, though I was referring to your recent behavior toward me, Luke." And at this, his apprentice's face drained of all color.

The thinking pose returned, one hand under his chin, the other supporting his arm at the elbow. Layton surreptitiously chose to pace nearer to Luke. "Again, I invite you to correct me if I am wrong, but your recent treatment of me seems to suggest that you are ashamed of what you have been doing to cope with the pain. It is my belief that you did not want me to know, and as a result, you are attempting to cut me out of your life now. But I am no stranger to loss, my dear boy—" he paused and closed his eyes as if pulling himself together but eventually continued. "I am no stranger to pain. Believe me when I say that closing yourself off in such a manner does little to ease the strength of it."

The professor was standing directly before him now, and though Luke's stance was still on the defensive side, it seemed halfhearted. The boy, barely twice the age than he had been the first time they had met, dropped his gaze. "Are you sure?" he asked in a broken whisper.

"_Yes,_"Layton reasserted emphatically, painfully resisting the urge to place his hand on Luke's shoulder.

"I loved her, Professor," Luke confessed quietly. "I was going to ask her to—" and at the words, something inside Hershel quivered horribly and threatened to snap. Before the boy could say another word, Hershel engulfed him in an embrace.

"Oh Luke," he soothed protectively, something deep inside him hurting as intensely as it did upon his own loss, "I know. _I know."_

Luke trembled and wept into his shoulder for a few minutes before he said, "It doesn't—it doesn't get any easier, does it? It doesn't—I can't imagine—"

And just when Hershel was about to reassure him that the initial sting would fade with time, Luke finished. "I can't imagine—what you must have gone through. I'm so sorry, I never—"

"I never even _understood_ and now—"

Hershel was running his hands up and down Luke's back. "Hush, my dear boy, _hush,_" he said softly. "You don't need to explain yourself. We've _both_ lost her."

Luke's trembling only intensified at what Hershel presumed was the implication, but a few moments later, he moaned, "Professor, let go…'m gonna be sick."

The professor quickly procured a nearby bin and offered it to his distraught apprentice, who gratefully used the receptacle instead of the floor.

"Thanks," he muttered sheepishly, wiping the edge of his mouth on his sleeve.

"Not at all, Luke," Layton replied. "I do not condone the behavior which led you to this point, but it would be unconscionable to turn away from you now."

Luke's cheeks instantly turned red. "I'm not—I just—"

When he didn't continue on in that vein, however, Hershel asked, "Do you think you can walk?"

"Um…I think so."

"Splendid. How far?"

Luke looked at him, confusion filling his otherwise pale, sweaty face. "You can't really mean—"

"Just to my car, I should think. A few hundred yards or so."

"I think I can manage, but…why?"

Layton heavily sighed and closed his eyes. "Luke, I had no idea you would take this so hard. If I had only known—"

Luke's face contorted back into a mask of sadness and grief. "I know. You were right. I didn't want anyone to know. I thought I could handle it…myself."

Hershel glanced around the interior once again, taking in the sight of the apartment in such deliberate neglect—it was not an image that would leave him any time soon. "I think perhaps you could have…sans the alcohol."

"I know it looks horrible from where you're standing, but I don't even like the taste of it. I have to force myself to even drink it," Luke miserably confessed. "I just didn't want—"

It was becoming very difficult not to hold him again. "Luke, I know," he gently assured again, turning away from his apprentice and surreptitiously pulling his hat down to conceal his face for a moment. When the moment of intensity had passed, he walked to the bookshelf near the front door, finding a broken picture frame on the floor. He picked it up and turned it over, knowing exactly what picture it was before he did so as he said, "Numbing the pain does not ease it, and given long enough, the constant avoidance can consume." He carefully removed the broken shards of glass and placed the frame back in its rightful place, making a mental note to replace the frame later. It was a picture of himself and Luke when Luke graduated secondary school. They were both smiling.

When Luke said nothing, Hershel elaborated, "Fortunately, I do not believe you caused any lasting damage—though you may not feel that way physically at the moment."

"Yeah, I feel…pretty bad," Luke sheepishly admitted.

"I'd like to take you home, Luke," the professor said, his eyes trained on the photograph. "I think separation from these surroundings would help tremendously."

"But what about when I return?" Luke questioned glumly. "What if I—I know I'm just—"

His hand was on his hat again as he turned around. "What of it, Luke?"

"What if I do this again?" he whispered, the pain in Luke's eyes causing the horrible, intense ache deep inside Hershel to flare up again. "Being in the house—I don't know if I can—"

"I'll be right beside you Luke, as I should have been the moment we—" his reassurances suddenly caught in his throat, but he cleared it and finished, "lost her."

Luke's gaze diverted to the floor, but Hershel could see the unmistakable glimmer of tears and suddenly could bear it no longer. He hugged the boy—hardly a boy now, but a man—again. The action only served to renew Luke's anguished sobs.

"Shh, my boy, _shh," _Hershel shushed, though more gently this time. "I know it seems a long way from the world ever feeling right again, but the day will come when the loss does not feel so fresh and the darkness so crushing. Please believe me, my boy," he whispered, eyes closing, trying to imagine them anywhere else rather than here—it helped his own stinging eyes.

"I'm sorry—" Luke choked. "I just can't seem—to stop—_crying_—"

"I'm not leaving without you, Luke," the professor assured, though it was becoming difficult to keep his own voice steady. "Take as long as you require."

Ten minutes later, Layton led Luke out of the latter's ransacked apartment and helped him into the car as Luke was swaying and unsteady on his feet. He was fast asleep before Layton even made it out of the parking lot.


End file.
